Who Are You?
by Warpath Grizzly
Summary: Matthew, a high security patient, remembers none of his life other than the past two years spent within hospital walls. Suddenly, however, his ever-present dreams seem to be trying to tell him something...Full summary inside. Warning: very dark.
1. Chapter One

Full Summary: Matthew, a high security patient, remembers none of his life other than the past two years spent within hospital walls. Suddenly, however, his ever-present dreams seem to be trying to tell him something. In the search for meaning to his visions, Matthew will have to ask the most dangerous question of all, the answer to which could forever change the balance of the world: who am I?

**Who Are You?**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter One

He stood alone on a manicured green field that stretched on as far as he could see. The short grasses tickled his bare feet. The air was pleasantly warm, the sun beaming down on the world from the clear blue heavens above. The young man smiled softly, closing his eyes and basking in the rays of that great ball of thermonuclear hydrogen fusion going on millions and millions of kilometres of away.

As the boy returned his attention to the Earth, he noticed a pair of golden-haired figures standing on the horizon. Curious, he started running for them. It seemed as if decades were passing by with each step, yet his feet could take him no closer to the figures. He was just running on and on, the grass becoming a blur, the sun indifferent to his struggle.

Suddenly, he heard the figures laugh. The vibrations of the sound waves traveled through the matter of the gas mixture of mainly nitrogen and oxygen to ring through the delicate workings of his ear, his brain transforming the nerve impulses into information. It was a most melodious and pure sound, like ribbons of silver flowing undeterred through soft lands. He was simultaneously filled with such joy and such sorrow, that he wasn't sure whether to laugh, or cry, or do both.

An instant later, all thought of the figures and their gentle, loving laughter was wiped from his mind. Rather than grass, his right foot came down on a different plant. Looking down, he saw that the field now contained specimens of the species _papaver rhoeas_ that seemed to be virtually choking out the blades of grass underneath their brilliant, blood red petals. He stopped and lowered himself to one knee, picking one of the millions of identical flowers, snapping its stem, its life source, easily in his thin fingers.

So absorbed was the boy in gazing at the beautiful organism in his hand that he didn't notice the field fade away to be replaced by a white room until everything was already in place. Standing up slowly and clutching the poppy in both his pale hands close to his chest, he noticed that he was enclosed on all sides by those six perfect squares, yet he did not feel afraid at all. A large pane of glass separated him from the rest of the room, though it might as well have been a mirror because staring back at him was his reflection.

Only, there was something off about his reflection. Sure it was pale, blue-eyed, tall, skinny, and blond like him, but there was a detached air about it, as if it mimicked him only in appearance, not in soul. The shackles around the other him's wrists looked heavy and menacing, but his reflection did not notice them as he gently held the poppy, as if guarding it from some unknown danger. As he watched, the reflection closed his eyes and lifted the crimson painted flower to his face.

Then the poppy began to change, the vibrant red fading to white and pink, the stamens going from black to yellow. It was no longer _papaver rhoeas_, but _papaver somniferum_, the opium poppy, the sleep-bringer, the flower that influenced Coleridge's journey into Xanadu.

He could only watch as his reflection brought the dangerous flower to his lips, open his mouth, and ingest the flower to the stem. Rather than the white latex that is the poppy's poison, a trail of blood made its way to the edge of the other him's jaw line. A single drop fell, but before it could hit the pure white ground, the blood became water, a salty tear splattering and scattering unceremoniously upon the floor.

The young man turned suddenly away from the identical figure of himself. A large, white bear that he estimated weighed nearly 550 lb (or 250 kg, if metric was more appropriate) stood where once there was none, its sentient black eyes boring into his soul. The mouth of that great beast did not move, but he knew that it was the bear's voice that said the next words: "Who are you?"

Finding he had no answer, the young man returned his attention to the glass. Instead of his reflection there was a small red poppy poking out of the brown soil that had peeled back the perfection of the floor. The tear had become blood once more, and in such a liquid was written the word whose letters stretched in a half circle around the flower.

REMEMBER

_Remember what?_ The young man wanted to ask, but all too soon the world around him began to collapse as his mind fell back into darkness's sweet embrace.

* * *

><p>Waking up was neither pleasant nor unpleasant for Matthew. It was simply a part of his daily routine, as were the dreams. He was hardly even fazed by the nightly visions anymore. Fumbling for his glasses and pushing aside a copy of <em>Arabian Nights <em>to get to them, Matthew was finally able to see exactly where he had hidden his journal. He always stuck it between the mattress and the bars of the bed frame; accessing it often involved being half upside down with legs flawing in the air. But it's not like anyone would be watching him at 6:30am.

Clicking on the lamp, Matthew started scribbling down his latest dream. He remembered every detail, and should someone else read his journal, they would probably think he was trying to write a novel. But Matthew didn't write in detail with the intention of sounding smart, nor because he thought his life was like a work of fiction. No, he just wanted to preserve the fine points in case they came up for future use. Science had taught him that even the most inconspicuous detail could be the one to mess up the entire experiment.

Reading over his work when he was done, Matthew began to wonder something that had never really crossed his mind so seriously before: what did it mean? What did the symbols represent? Was it connected to his other dreams? Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? Should he stop eating chocolate chip cookies before bed?

He might never know, but there was one thing he was sure about: he was not about to give up delicious treats anytime soon. He'd rather dream about nuclear war every night than give up Chips Ahoy!

Placing the journal back into its hiding spot and trying to push the dream out of his mind, Matthew practically leapt out of bed. The whole of his naked feet touched the cool tiled ground for just a second before he raised himself up on his tippy toes. His long, thin arms reached out towards the ceiling as if to grasp that expanse of white, though it was impossible since the room from bottom to top was twice his body length.

Feeling the pop in his back, Matthew relaxed from his stretch, heels firmly planted on the ground once more. This was the best way to wake up, in his opinion.

Matthew took his time getting ready since breakfast wouldn't be served until 7:10 anyways, and he hated starting his studies before having a good morning meal.

As 7:10 rolled around, Matthew heard the tell-tale sound of metal scraping against tile. Poking his head around the corner from inside his attached bathroom, he saw the tray of food lying on the floor where it had been shoved through the slat on the door. He heard no one call out to him, so either Howell had delivered his food today, or there was some new guy on shift. The other guards were generally nice to him, usually saying "good morning, Matthew" even if they didn't stop for a five minute chat.

Banks and Morrison were his favourites. They were the nicest of the group, usually having full conversations with him, or sneaking in extra treats with his meals, even letting him into the Secure Room so they could all play cards if they happened to be on duty at the same time. He was always afraid that they would get caught, and be punished for slacking off on the job, which only served to strengthen his gratitude to the two men.

Not wanting his oatmeal to get cold, Matthew grabbed the tray and put it on his desk, digging in immediately. When he was done, he gently slid the tray back to the other side of the door, and settled back at his desk to cover a bit more reading on _King Lear_ before his meeting. He heard the Secure Room door open and close meaning the tray had been retrieved, but still no word from the person who came to collect it. He sure hoped it was just a new guy and not Howell. Then maybe he'd have another person to talk to.

8:20 rolled around and a knock came from the door. Marking the page, Matthew closed his economics textbook and practically skipped to the door. On the other side were two guards, one tall and burly and the other short, dressed in their black uniforms with their thick vests and masks, batons strapped to their belts. Someone else might have been afraid, but not Matthew. This was all routine after all, and they would only hurt him if he did something bad, which he never had. There had only ever been that one incident…but he'd never heard from that guard ever again.

He stood still so they could handcuff his wrists behind his back and blindfold him, his smile remaining in place. Afterwards, they unlocked the Secure Room door, and the three of them passed out into the hallway beyond.

As they passed through the corridors Matthew had long memorized by feeling alone, he noticed that one of the guard's footsteps, the one on his right, were too light to be Howell's. He must have been fresh meat. Matthew recognized the guard on his left immediately, however.

"Who's the new guy, Bridges?" he asked. A chuckle followed on his left, accompanied by a slight hitching of step to his right.

"Matthew, this is McGuire. She just got transferred here last night," responded Bridges in his baritone voice.

_She?_

"And they've already got me working at that," a female voice said, a touch of humour in her tone. "Nice to meet you, Matthew."

"N-nice to meet you, too…" he trailed off softly. He'd never had a woman guard before. In his time here, he'd had very little contact with women at all. There had been that one lady doctor, but she had left after only a few weeks. When Matthew had asked, he'd been told that she had found out she was pregnant, and had decided to take on a job closer to her home and family. Understandable, by all means.

Luckily, they reached their destination before anything more had to be said. Matthew could feel the blood rush to his cheeks making them pink, and he hoped they wouldn't notice. Everyone knew he got pretty shy around strangers, maybe they would think he was just nervous. Well, he was actually, but knowing the new guard was a woman made him even more introverted.

In the new Secure Room, his wrists were untied and the blindfold taken off before he was allowed to step into the adjoining room. It was a very homely office, with shelves covered in books, papers littered here and there, leather armchairs, and a very crowded desk. The only windows were high up on the walls so that no one could see in our out, like those in his own room. Behind the desk sat an older man, scraggly hair white and eyes a dulled blue, in scrubs and a white coat. Upon seeing Matthew, his face lit up and all the attention that he had been pouring into the dossier before him shifted to the blond teen in his office.

"Matthew, good morning! New guard?" the man asked, gently leading the boy into one of the armchairs and sitting opposite him. His observation only helped deepen Matthew's blush. So it was that noticeable…He looked away, and simply nodded in confirmation.

The doctor chuckled, pulling a notepad and pen out from one of his pockets, and flipping the small book open to a blank page. "I'm sure you'll get used to him in no time."

"It's a girl this time…" Matthew murmured, barely audible even in the silence of the room. This seemed to pique the man's interest as Matthew saw him lift an eyebrow from the corner of his eye.

"Well, perhaps this will be a good change overall. Now, let's start with what you dreamt about last night."

And so, Matthew described his dream as best he could as the doctor made notes. Their session lasted about an hour, as it always did, during which time they talked about many things. Not once, however, did Matthew mention his feelings about how badly he wanted to know what the dream meant. He trusted this man with his life, and told him everything, so he wasn't quite sure why he didn't tell the doctor about his feelings concerning the dream. It was odd, that was certain, and Matthew needed a bit of time to think up a good causality for his subconscious decision.

As the meeting came to an end, the two said their good-byes, and as Matthew was about to leave the office, he turned around and asked, "Dr. Williams, can I take out a book from the library?"

"Of course, Matthew! The library is open to you at all times." The man's smile was sincere and friendly, and Matthew counted himself lucky for having at least one kind and understanding physician.

"Thank you, Dr. Williams. See you tomorrow."

The walk to the library was uncomfortably quiet, and unfortunately no one was brave enough to break the awkward silence. Once there, Matthew scoured the huge room until he finally found what he was looking for. As he was being escorted back to his room, he traced the raised letters of the book, excited yet somewhat worried about what he might find inside.

Matthew spent the rest of that morning educating himself on the mechanics of dreaming.

-{ * }-

A Note From Blaklite: I had this idea stuck in my head for a while, tried to shake it out, and that didn't work. So I wrote it down instead. This first chapter has actually been done for a few weeks, and I've been struggling this whole time wondering if I should publish it or not. I've decided to go ahead with it to see what you, the readers, think of it. Ultimately, if this story is highly unpopular (or most of you prefer that I stick to finishing my ongoing fics) it will probably get scrapped, at least for a little while. So please review and let me know how you think the story is going every now and then (even quick messages like "this chapter sux" or "OMG MOAR" are highly appreciated) so that I know whether to continue or quit it.

Just warning everyone now, this story is **very dark**, and will contain much more **dark imagery, gore, violence, **and** angst**. It's not a fluffy story in other words (though I will try to include at least somewhat happy parts, just for you guys). So again, please leave a review if you want to see more, or if you'd rather I scrap this and think up something cuter, and happier, and possibly involving bunnies.


	2. Chapter Two

**Who Are You?**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Two

Despite the darkness that enveloped him on all sides, Matthew found himself standing on some kind of solid, invisible mass. He could also see his own body amongst the dark, though no source of electromagnetic radiation was present. Though he could identify no threat, fear began rising within him.

Suddenly, a light ignited in the darkness in front of him some distance away. It emanated from a lamp that hung on a cord connected to nothing. Beneath it stood a plain desk. Compelled, Matthew started walking towards the circle of light.

Nothing occurred during the first few meters, and Matthew tried to convince himself that nothing was going to happen. He was wrong, however, when he heard a dull thunk, and looked down to see the pinkie finger of his right hand on the ground, a small pool of blood collecting around the severed end. His hand was bleeding profusely, yet curiously he felt no pain. Picking up the severed digit and putting it in his pocket, he continued walking.

A crack rang out in the darkness accompanied this time by a sharp pain in his left talocrural joint. Matthew fell to the ground as his leg gave out. Checking his foot, he noticed his ankle was swollen and he couldn't move anything below the steadily purpling bulge. It was definitely broken.

Matthew was steadily beginning to panic as his mind scrambled to understand what was happening to him. Some unnameable force kept pushing him to get to the light, and he felt that if only he could, he might be safe. Unable to get back up, Matthew had no choice but to crawl.

On his hands and knees, he managed to advance a couple more meters before an invisible knife cut through the next finger on his right hand. He felt the pain much more clearly this time, and had to bite his lip to keep from making any sound.

_He was lying on his back, a bright light shining above him. He couldn't turn his head, but from the corners of his eyes he saw the metal walls of the room peaking out from under the halo that blocked his vision. Two figures suddenly appeared, shadows preventing some of the light from reaching him. He couldn't see them very clearly, but he could tell they were wearing scrubs, masks covering their mouths, eyes hidden behind the glare of glass lenses. Slowly, the figure to his left held up an already bloodied scalpel…_

Matthew gasped in fear as the vision faded, yet oddly the fear diminished fairly quickly, leaving him instead with a feeling of…acceptance? It had been as if he was re-living that moment rather than experiencing it for the first time. Matthew pushed it from his mind. Coming back to his current situation, he lifted the newly separated digit into his pocket to rest beside the first.

When Matthew looked back towards the light, he was confused to find that the desk had been replaced by a hospital bed. Well, it didn't matter what it was as long as he got there. Continuing his trip, much of his right hand and knee now covered in blood, the next thing to go was his left knee cap. On its own, his knee cap hinged into an unnatural angle before falling back to the floor. Matthew couldn't help but cry out in pain this time as he curled around his broken knee on the floor. Despite the pain, he couldn't give up, he had to reach the light, and so, dragging his left leg behind him, Matthew pushed onwards.

The attack continued with a solid kick to the face that left his jaw feeling rattled, but thankfully not dislocated. His sides likewise took several similar hits, resulting in about three cracked costae. Biting down to keep from crying out, Matthew took the barrage as he pulled himself unceasingly across the ground. The hospital bed had become an operating table.

He was barely given any time to register the pull on his left arm before his shoulder was torn from its socket, now a useless, dangling limb. This time, Matthew screamed, falling on his right side to keep from further injuring his left. His screaming intensified as the middle finger of his right hand was cut off like the rest before it.

"P-please…stop…" he begged, breathing raggedly from the pain flowing through him, not to mention the cracked ribs. He was so close to his destination, yet the further he got, the more pain he had to endure. Matthew was heavily considering giving up if it meant freedom from such torment. "Please…"

_Please…_, a disembodied voice pleaded. _Please, no…_Matthew was fairly certain he'd never heard that voice before, and yet it was so familiar. _Anything but that, please…_Such panic, such fear in just one person's voice. _Stop this. I'll…I'll do anything, anything you tell me to! Just please, not that…_By the strain that presented itself suddenly in the voice's tone, Matthew guessed that it must have been struggling against something. _No. No, get away! Get. Away. NO! AHHHHHHH!_

Matthew's heart gave a jolt at the sound of the scream. A purer display of terror and suffering he had never known. As the scream tapered off, Matthew was left with naught but pity and sorrow for whatever being had had to suffer such a fate.

Sound did not abandon Matthew again, however, as a steady _drip_, _drip_, _drip_ then reached his ears. Looking to the light, he saw that the operating table was now covered in dark red blood, some of it dripping off the edge and forming round pools. The pain came back next, momentarily paralyzing him. Recovering his strength and determined to be done with all this, Matthew tucked his third detached finger away, extended his good enough arm, and began dragging himself anew towards his goal.

It was definitely not the easiest leg of the journey. Along the way, he was kicked, punched, stabbed, and cut by invisible forces. Bruises and gashes now covered his body, blood stained almost every inch of him, several bones were now either cracked or broken, and his right eye was steadily swelling, reducing his vision. More than once he paused to regain his breath, to weep, to beg, to scream, but through all this he kept his vision locked on the table.

_He couldn't see anything due to the scratchy blindfold around his eyes, but he could feel everything clear as day. His arms had been chained above his head. It served the function of keeping him on his bleeding feet, and making every breath more painful than the last. Everything hurt with a dull ache. Out of nowhere, a fist collided with his abdomen._

Regaining his sight, Matthew started coughing violently as pain spread through his organs. He coughed and coughed, until blood was spilling liberally from his mouth to splatter on the floor. Wiping away some of the blood off his mouth with his right arm, Matthew started dragging himself forward again, breathing heavier than before.

He was inches away from the border between light and dark when he was viciously kicked in the side, causing another rib to break. Just as he thought things couldn't get any worse, his right hand trespassed into the light, and his index finger was suddenly and brutally cut off from the rest of him. Unable to will sound from his raw throat, Matthew merely clutched his mutilated hand to his chest, drawing his eyes from the table, and letting a few tears spill.

When he looked back, the bloody operating table had become a pristine morgue slab. From his location on the floor, Matthew could mostly only see the underneath of the thick metal sheet. Slowly uncurling his arm, he tried to pick up his index finger, but found it nearly impossible with only a thumb and a hand covered in blood. Without hesitation, Matthew bit down on the severed digit, and carried it like such with him to the slab. He couldn't distinguish the iron taste of the blood from his finger from the blood that was already leaking from his split lips.

Mercifully, the beatings stopped as soon as he was fully within the circle of light. But Matthew couldn't rest. A few feet later, he was lying before the slab, trying to figure out a way to stand up. Grasping the top of the morgue slab with his slippery, blood-soaked right hand, Matthew forced himself to stand shakily and in a great deal of pain on his right leg. Finally, it was over.

"Took you long enough." Matthew was greatly surprised to see the other him lying peacefully on the morgue slab, uninjured hands resting on his chest. "You look like shit," the other him stated, smiling up at him.

_His voice! It sounds like-_

"Who are you?" rung out a different voice in the dark. Beside the slab and right in front of him was the white bear again, looking up at him expectantly. A jolt of fear slowly rolled through Matthew's body as time seemed to slow down.

Extending his leg behind himself in order to take a step back, Matthew quickly found himself hurtling backwards towards the ground as his torn up left leg gave out under his weight…

* * *

><p>Matthew awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, and looking about the moonlit room as if in search of an intruder. There was no one, of course, but that didn't make him feel any safer. If anything, he felt more vulnerable, just him and whatever kept haunting his dreams alone in the same room. It made him afraid to fall back asleep. He constantly tried to convince himself that it was a dream, it was all just a dream. Nothing that had happened to him had actually happened. No matter how real it felt…<p>

A few hours later, the sun was rising in the east, the light from its rays slowly illuminating his little room. Matthew hadn't slept at all after waking up from the nightmare. Most of the night had been spent flexing his fingers, making sure they were still there, that his leg wasn't broken, his body not covered in bruises. It was illogical, and he knew it, but it had been a terrifying dream nonetheless.

His senses seemed to return with the day, at least. Glancing at the clock from where he was huddled in the corner on his bed, he noticed it was already 6:44a.m. Routine was telling him to get up, to get ready, and to go about another normal day. Gladly, Matthew obeyed, wanting nothing more than to forget about the nightmare.

On unsteady feet, the teen made his way to the washroom. With shaking hands, he turned the knobs that controlled the stream of water for the shower, and, after shrugging off his clothes, nearly slipped trying to get into the tub. _Alright, Matt. Just calm down_.The water did a better job of doing this than his own words.

By the time he left the bathroom, breakfast had already been slid under the slat. Cheerios today, along with some toast and peanut butter, an orange, and oooo butterscotch pudding. He was just about to dig in after placing the tray on the desk when his gaze was drawn to the bed. He hadn't written down his dream yet, and he almost didn't want to. Matthew didn't believe he'd forget anytime soon, but he wrote down every dream, and didn't want one little nightmare to shake up his entire routine so easily. Nope, he wasn't about to let his imagination win he decided, pulling out the book, and beginning the narrative while he spooned delicious Cheerios into his mouth.

He had to stop several times while writing, visions from the all-too real experience popping into his mind with vivid clarity. His body tingled from phantom pain where he'd been injured in the dream. But he kept a level head and wrote the whole story down. Glancing at the clock once more, Matthew noted that it had taken him nearly thirty minutes to write down a single dream. How could a figment of his imagination affect him so?

After placing the journal back into its hiding spot, the blond finished his meal to the best of his ability. He still had a bit of time before his meeting with the doctor, but thoughts of the dream were upsetting his concentration. Instead of studying, Matthew decided to replay what he'd read the other day on dreams, and their meanings.

He hadn't been able to find much in the library about dreams (he assumed it was not a popular enough or useful enough subject to garner a large amount of research). Apparently, dreaming occurred during REM sleep, during which time the brain acts almost as it does when awake. The brain functioned as an archivist when asleep, cementing new memories in place and making sure old memories weren't lost. Was he having these weird dreams because he can't remember his past? Maybe his brain was trying to get these memories back. Or maybe there was something wrong with him, something that had also caused him to forget the majority of his life experiences in the first place.

A knock on the big, metal door. "Matt? Hey, Matt, you okay there, bud?" Matthew turned to see one of the guards gingerly poking their head around the slightly ajar door. The teen couldn't tell who it was by face since all the guards wore masks, but he knew by the voice that it was Morrison. Since the day he'd met Matthew, Morrison had been kind and friendly. He was the opposite of loud, excitable Banks, but a more sympathetic ear for it.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Matthew responded, his usual quiet tone slightly shaken. "Is it that time already?"

"Yeah. You sure you're okay?"

"Just…a weird dream that's stuck in my head."

Morrison nodded. "Well, you'll have something to talk about with the doctor today at least." He gestured for Matthew to follow him out of the room, and, obediently, the teen did.

* * *

><p>"So, any interesting dreams last night, Matthew?"<p>

_Interesting is one way of putting it_, the young blond thought to himself. To the Doctor, however, he merely smiled, albeit nervously. "Well, I had a dream, b-but it wasn't very interesting."

"Oh? Let's hear it," the Doctor said, genuinely interested.

Uhhhh…UHHHHHH. "W-well, everything was really dark, and there was this, like, light in the distance, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't get closer, to it."

"I see…" the grey-haired man stated pensively, writing a few notes down. "And what do you think it means?"

"I…I don't know. Maybe I'm trying to reach for a goal I can't achieve?" Matthew asked, a bit relieved that his lying had worked yet again. Though he still didn't understand _why_ he was lying. He'd never felt he had to in the past…

"Or maybe you're just going about trying to achieve it the wrong way," Dr. Williams suggested, tapping the end of his pen against the side of his face. Looking down, Matthew thought about that possibility. Perhaps instead of waiting for the dreams to tell him what they meant, he was supposed to go and ask.

"I suppose, but I don't even know what my goal is…"

Dr. Williams resumed a pensive appearance from his seat behind the desk, comically exaggerating on purpose. His antics always managed to get Matt to smile. The psychologist must have been great with kids. "You've been trying to sort out that old library for a little over a year now. Perhaps you need to rethink your methods."

Gee, lying was easy. "That's true. I didn't think about the library, and it _is_ taking a while. At this rate, I'll be an old man like you by the time all those books find their proper place."

The Doctor chuckled lightly at the joke. "We wouldn't want that, now would we? How are things with that new guard?"

The young blond couldn't stop the light blush that spread across his features. "She seems nice."

"Just nice?"

"W-we haven't r-really talked much…"

The Doctor chuckled once more. "I'm sure you'll get your chance, Matthew. For now, go tend to your library."

In slight confusion as to what the older man meant exactly by that statement, Matthew left the office, and proceeded to be escorted to the library.

His library, really. Upon first laying eyes on it, he knew it was to be his favourite room of all. The only problem was it was a complete mess. Nothing was in alphabetical order, volumes had been strewn about here and there, pages left out in the sun with layers of dust concealing the letters underneath. He knew he had to do something. So he'd taken it upon himself, as a way of keeping busy, to organize it top to bottom, cleaning along the way.

A year later, and it _still_ wasn't finished, but he had time. It was certainly an improvement from what it had been. Matthew wondered how long it had gone without attention, how long had it been neglected. It was very different from his room, and from Dr. Williams's office. It was a large room with a domed roof, reminding him of pictures of other old libraries he'd seen in the books here. However, all the windows were too high for him to look out of, though this didn't keep the sun from shining through. Sometimes he would lie on the wood floor and watch as motes of dust danced about in those golden rays, wishing somehow that he could fly up there and look out for himself.

(One time, he'd actually been caught climbing onto one of the bookcases, but he didn't like to talk about it much.)

Matthew had never seen the outside world. He knew of it, thanks to the books, but he himself had never seen anything but the insides of a few rooms in this building, or at least didn't remember anything of anywhere else. He didn't even know how big the entire building was. But this thought rarely bothered him. It was home, and he was comfortable here. Sure, sometimes he'd get curious and simply want to peek out of one of the few windows, but he was just as often terrified of what he might see. Perhaps his sudden interest in his dreams again was because of this curiosity for the unknown, for something new, different, exciting!

It was positively unhealthy.

And so, the teen resigned himself to another morning of sorting, and alphabetizing, and dusting. Not that he minded, of course. It was routine.

But tonight was the night he was going to get to the bottom of those pesky dreams once and for all.

-{ * }-

A Note From Blaklite: I DID warn all of you that this was going to be a dark/angsty/violent/gorey fic.

I must apologise for uploading this story and then kind of leaving it like it was for a long while. By nature, I am a slow writer, and, like everyone else, life tends to interrupt every once in a while. However, this fic has been sticking in my head recently, so hopefully you'll all see another chapter soon.

Now that my obligatory apology section is over, I must say I'm not ENTIRELY pleased with this chapter. Specifically the end. I hope I brought about the feeling of the library appropriately. It is a haven for Matthew, and is supposed to hold this feeling that is different from other places he's been. I was inspired by the cathedral I used to go to when I was young and a Catholic.

Also, in case this wasn't clear, Matthew and Dr. Williams are NOT related. They share some similar features (which will be addressed later in the story), but they are not family.

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter, and if you didn't, I'd still love to hear your criticism. It helps me become a better writer.


	3. Chapter Three

**Who Are You?**

By Blaklite

-{ * }-

Chapter Three

When Matthew awoke in the morning, he once again felt uneasy. The night before had been one of the most unsettling of all if only because he hadn't dreamt _at all_. He almost always did. The blond could count on one hand the numbers of times these past two years that he'd woken up in the morning without having dreamt of _something_. What did this mean? Was the Other Matthew hiding from him? Was this whole mess over?

The routine continued its regular schedule up until breakfast. He'd been nibbling away at his oatmeal when he'd found something hidden inside it. A vial of some sort containing a piece of paper. Without fully knowing why, he carefully looked around to make sure no one was watching before opening the vial and slowly unrolling the note.

It read thus: _Matthew, don't be afraid. I know why you're here, and I want to help you. Tonight, at the changing of the guard, I'll come to you. Wait for me._

The letter was anonymous, and left Matthew feeling strangely anxious.

* * *

><p>Later on in the library, Matthew made an unexpected discovery. He'd recently begun organizing a new section of shelves when he'd found the item perched up against one of the bookcases. It had taken him a few times walking past it to realise it was there, though; he was a bit distracted by his earlier conversation with Dr. Williams. After he'd told the older man how he hadn't dreamt of anything that night, they'd discussed possibilities as to why this was. Matthew had let slip that he'd been feeling nervous lately, though luckily the doctor hadn't pressed him for more information. Considering it was his job to help Matthew get to the bottom of things, it was a bit odd, but perhaps he simply believed that Matthew needed more time to think things out on his own first.<p>

In the midst of such thoughts was when he'd found the mirror. It was a long, floor mirror backed by a thin sheet of wood that was only slightly lighter than the brown of the shelves. It had been leaning rather carelessly, and yet had managed to stay upright for this long. It was an odd thing to find in a library, perhaps, but he'd found other random objects scattered across the floor or hidden between books before, leading him to believe that at one point the library served as extra storage.

Bringing it out into the lobby, Matthew propped it against one of the pillars, and stepped back. For whatever reason, the mirror fascinated him. The mirror itself wasn't what was interesting since all it did was reflect light, but it was what it contained that was spectacular: a whole other world, just a little reversed, where things looked brighter, happier maybe. Something in his mind tugged at his thoughts then, questioning why he doubted his happiness at all, but it was quickly swept aside by another thought. What if that world was this world? What if he could escape for just a moment? _Why do you need to escape?_

Bowing to his reflection with a smile, an action that was copied by said reflection (_At least _this _other me is normal.)_, Matthew straightened and began to dance. It wasn't much of a dance per se, considering he had no partner, unlike in the instructional videos he was sometimes allowed to watch, but the teen didn't care. He imagined spinning around and around in a magnificent golden ballroom, like in the royal residences of Versailles or the Catherine Palace, both of which he only knew through pictures and words. He imagined his own music, a quick waltz performed by a full orchestra, all in perfect unison. He even imagined lords in their neat suits and ladies in their flowing dresses twirling around him, unaware of anything but the music and the dance. And for a minute, Matthew really believed he was there, spinning and spinning and spinning, and _free_.

But the dream couldn't last forever; the music slowed and came to a stop, the lords and ladies made their exit, and the gold light dimmed to a dusty yellow. Matthew was back in the library, breathing a little heavily and standing before his reflection once again. After waiting a moment to catch his breath, the young blond realised he was being impolite, and bowed to his reflection, his one time dance partner. When he looked up, he received one of the biggest shocks of his life.

His reflection hadn't bowed, was still standing as he had seconds earlier. An instant was all Matthew had to analyse his reflection, or was it now the Other Matthew? There was something cold burning in those blue eyes, and the other's face was set in an emotion Matthew had never felt, but recognized: hatred. They breathed at the same time, blinked at the same time, but then the reflection was moving at lightning speed to press a bloodied hand (how hadn't he noticed earlier?) against the invisible barrier between them. Matthew started and fell back onto the floor, losing sight of the mirror.

When he looked back, all he saw was his reflection sprawled on the ground as he was. Had he imagined it all? Whatever blood should have been smeared on the other side was gone, but he was certain he noticed the mirror shake with the impact. But…reflections didn't do that, and there was no such thing as an 'other side'. No, Matthew reasoned, it was just his imagination, like the music had been. Yet, it had been so real…

"Hey, kid, you okay?" Matthew recognized the voice as belonging to Banks, though he sounded…worried, maybe…frightened? Looking towards the doors, he spotted his two guards for the day. Judging by how the second guard said nothing and stood closest to the doors looking bored, Matthew assumed it was Howell. The man didn't like him much, though Matthew had never done anything to upset him (at least he didn't think he had). The teen had always assumed he didn't really like his job, or that it was boring. Or maybe he was simply dedicated to the job, and fraternizing with the target wasn't part of it.

Banks took another step towards him, possibly wishing to help him off the floor, but the guards weren't allowed to be near Matthew unless they were transporting him, though this didn't stop them from playing cards with him. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Matthew rose to his feet, and dusted himself off.

"I'm fine. I was just…I tripped, and fell." He really had to work on his ability to lie.

Banks nodded. "Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine." Okay, so his butt hurt from the fall, and his elbow was smarting after smacking the tiles like that, but there was no _physical_ damage really. Matthew realised then that he was shaking a little. He glanced at the mirror, but quickly turned away. "I…I think I want to go back to my room now."

* * *

><p>Matthew spent the rest of the day jumping from book to book, trying to clear his head of the events that had transpired in the library. He was sure, so sure, that he'd seen what he'd seen in that mirror. But, surly, it couldn't actually be real. He was going crazy, he must be…<p>

How had the Other Matthew appeared to him like that? He hadn't been dreaming, Banks and Howell had been there, too. It was possible, he supposed. Maybe he'd forgotten that he sat down for a break, and had drifted off, sleep-walking to end up on the floor. That seemed much more logical, but…he couldn't help feeling it was an incorrect hypothesis.

However the spectre had appeared, there was one more thing Matthew had to ask himself. _Why_ had he appeared then and there, if it had happened at all? Just as he thought the figure had disappeared from his life, suddenly he was back. It was hard to ignore that kind of wake up call.

Try and try as he might, Matthew's thoughts drifted back to this issue throughout the day. Not even James Joyce could get him to think of anything else. So when the dinner hour rolled around, Matthew was given a bit of a start.

"Hey, you alright, Matthew?" Banks called out from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, just…distracted." He bent to pick up his tray from the floor, and to avoid facing his lies.

Banks clearly wasn't buying it, but he seemed to try. "Well, I'm just outside 'til my shift is over if you need to talk." With that, he returned to his post.

The meeting! How had he forgotten the note? _Tonight at the changing of the guard I'll come to you._ Who could it be? Who would want to talk to him privately? And what kind of information demanded a secret meeting? Matthew shook his head. Now there were even more questions floating around up there.

Something told him not to act suspiciously, so he tried his best to go about his daily routine. He nibbled absentmindedly at his mashed potatoes while combing over a book on the French Revolution. On his third disinterested stab, his fork hit something that was definitely too hard to be potato. Curiously, Matthew turned his full attention to his plate, and dug around the object until it emerged from amidst the pulverized vegetable remains. It was a small metal cylinder. Looking to the door and spotting no prying eyes, he lifted it from his supper and unscrewed the top. Tipping it over, the holding device relinquished its contents: a piece of paper. Carefully, Matthew unrolled it and read the note, recognizing the handwriting to most likely be that of his mysterious correspondent from earlier in the day.

_Unsafe to meet tonight. Tomorrow, changing of the guard. Don't eat the pudding._

Glancing at the dessert, Matthew frowned. He loved pudding…Well, he loved sweets. What was wrong with the pudding anyways? Why should he follow the instructions on the note? He didn't even know who was writing to him, and he couldn't quite comprehend why they would want to speak to him. Why would someone help someone so dangerous?

Why did he just think he needed help?

Baffled, Matthew quickly took the note and the capsule and shoved them into a drawer in the desk. He tried to go back to his meal, but found his appetite lacking. When the tray made it back on the other side, half of the food, including the pudding, was untouched.

-{ * }-

A Note From Blaklite: It's been a while, I know. But I am NOT giving up on any of my fics, so pass the word around. I have been busy, yes, but I'm not going to bother with excuses, as usual. Besides, none of you came here to listen to me rant about my life. On with the show!


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